


01101000111010

by carzla



Category: Beyblade
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins, Gen, Genetic Engineering, Human Experimentation, Kind of Morbid, POV First Person, Talking to Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-08
Updated: 2012-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-29 05:00:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carzla/pseuds/carzla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I prowl the streets at night, like a wolf searching for its prey. A brother, who scours the air – a watchful phoenix – accompanies me. We work together flawlessly. A killer duo – literally. We kill and murder. Mercenaries? No. Assassins. Two assassins whose ages you will never guess. Whose faces you will never believe to be true. But tonight, we plot the final murder. The murder of… our creator!</p>
            </blockquote>





	01101000111010

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2005, i.e. a long time ago.

If anyone told you that I was just a normal teenage boy, undergoing the pressures of a hectic high school life, they were wide of the mark. If anyone told you that my life was about as exciting as a snail’s, then they were sorely mistaken. If anyone said that I had a brother, they made a great error in choosing their gossip source. If anyone told you my father was a distinguished scientist, I would say that they were _technically_ wrong.

I have no real parents.

I am an orphan in the worst possible way.

I am genetically created. Just like my ‘brother’.

We are related only by our creator. We have no blood ties, different surnames and we most certainly don’t look like each other.

Not. One. Single. Bit.

I have flaming red hair, while he has two-toned blue hair – slate bangs that are spiked and deep navy blue at the back of his head. His eyes are a deep auburn that seems to be lit with a bright flame, a luminous tinge that is always there. My eyes are an icy blue, like glacial ice. My skin is a pale beige, like it has never seen the sunlight before. He has an Asian skin tone, albeit slightly fairer. We are much like opposites in all these aspects, and a few more differences personality-wise too.

Despite these physical (and some personality-wise) differences, we have two things very much in common – our attitude towards life and… our secret identities. By day, we are your average high school guys (though we do get more than a fair share of the female population’s attention, well, make that we always get the attention). By night, however…

We are deadly assassins, answering by the codename ‘Crimson’s Gemini’.

Who do we work for, you ask? Well, well. You are a curious one. We’re under our dearest ‘father’, the eminent scientist Voltaire. Surprised? You shouldn’t be. He is, after all, a successful but overly ambitious man. Power hungry would be more applicable.

He created us to kill for him, to eradicate his strongest rivals in the field of genetic engineering, so he could be the sole achiever in this ever-changing world of Science. He is succeeding in his demented quest. In spite of his countless wondrous accomplishments published in countless memoirs, books and newspapers, _we_ are his greatest success in genetics. And why would we be? He had created us from scratch, right down to the last DNA strand.

Who can say that they have red hair because the scientists in the laboratory said, “Okay, let’s take this pigmentation gene and give this kid red hair.”?

Who can say that each and every part of them, from their hair color to their growth rate, has been pre-determined?

Who can say that they’re born genetically perfect for the job as an assassin?

Who can proudly say that they’re the products of the greatest breakthrough in genetics?

Who am I? Let’s just say I answer to: 0110100. My brother? He answers to: 0111010. They are our original experiment codes, when it was still unclear if we would even survive to fetal stage. But as you can clearly see, we have and are doing absolutely well.

Oh, you’ve probably seen us around town or maybe even in school (you look like a high school kid). But you’ll never suspect that we’re behind the high profile assassinations of many scientists. Name any genetic engineering scientist that has died mysteriously in the past three years. The chances are that we’re the ones who killed them. Just throw a few names at me. I remember all who’ve died in my hands as well as my brother’s. We work together, though we do have solo missions on the occasion.

Ah? You say we have no conscience? I beg to differ. We have them. Just that it has been forced into hiding by our harsh training since we were five years old. We had a short childhood, so short that I don’t remember anything past stealth training regimes, trainings meant to block out our emotions, being forced to torture little animals and the brutal whippings or beatings that follows whenever either of us fails a task.

Why such harsh punishments? Well, we are genetically perfect. We were meant to be like that from the start. What is the meaning of genetically perfect? Simply, put we withstand the cold and heat better than the general human population. We pick up details easily. We learn fast. We heal fast. We have better eyesight. And looks-wise, we apparently are drop-dead gorgeous from the countless girls that chase after us – to our irritation. All these without further genetic modification… Good, huh?

Thus, with our bodies already enhanced for such intense training regimes, we soon learnt the need to hide our feelings. And pretty soon, we were masters of it. Though once in a while, during our childhood (if you could still call it a **child** hood), the naivety of the child inside of us breaks through. It is rare, but there are moments. Of course, afterwards, we get the whippings of our life. These whippings are usually done my Voltaire himself. But I don’t remember when was the last time I shed a tear. Neither can I remember when my brother last did. I doubt he can too.

I won’t blame you if you don’t believe my words, but I insist they are all true. In any case, I know Voltaire has the appearance of a benevolent man who will not hurt a fly. That is all but a lovely façade, my dear. One façade that nobody is in a hurry to remove, except my brother and I. Voltaire is the most ruthless, cruelest being on Earth that us siblings know. He is the worst scum on the face of the Earth. I cannot bear to classify him as a human. But if he isn’t a Homo Sapien, I cannot say that I, or my brother, are.

How can we be humans when our senses are enhanced to beyond human comprehension?

We can see well in the dark, much like owls do. We are able to hear sounds over ten meters away. Our reflexes are so fast; nobody will ever be able to beat us at martial arts. Agility and speed are another of our greatest assets. We have some sort of a six sense; our instincts have yet to fail us in any mission. I do not wish to boast, but when it comes to the Sciences and Mathematics, nobody living on Earth will be able to surpass us. Unless they have been genetically modified – like us.

Countless experiments have been done on us since we were mere infants. Our senses had reached optimal level a year ago and has maintained until now. It hasn’t shown any signs of degeneration either. I just wish it wouldn’t.

Being repeatedly dunked in large tubes filled with some chemical substance is not the most fun thing in the world. Trust me on that. Neither is having countless IV tubes stuck into your veins and arteries.

But now, back to the main point: Our occupation as assassins. It is an interesting job to say the least. Quite enjoyable actually. It takes us through the wonders of exploring the cities in the dead of the night. It allows us to familiarize ourselves with different places and buildings, such that we know the towns and cities like the back of our hand – as cliché as it sounds. And it prepares us for the realities in life… and the grand irony life is. Instead of survival of the fittest, in this world, intelligence is now almost indispensable.

Why is life made out to be so beautiful in all those cartoons, movies and ads? When it is just a vicious cycle of survival between hunters and hunted?

Speaking of the hunted, my brother and I have chosen our newest prey. Why don’t you take a guess at whom it’ll be? Hmm? You don’t want to? How about a clue? He thinks he’s safe from being hunted, being thought to be a hunter himself. Oh? You’ve got it. That’s good.

Yes, we’re planning an assassination of our beloved father. It has taken us ages to decide on whether he should live. But finally, tonight, everything we’ve meticulously planned will come together and we will eradicate the man from the face of the world! Every evil he has committed will be exposed! Doesn’t this just sound so _delectable_?

I would’ve laughed out loud by now. But in mind of you as an audience, I shan’t. For fear of terrifying you, of course. My brother has told me that I sound like a demon when I laugh maniacally – and still often reminds me of that. But I have every intention of laughing to my heart’s content, especially once the mission ends in success that I can already envision…

It will be the last one for our life as 01101000111010. It’ll be the most satisfying assignment ever…

Don’t look so frightened! I don’t bite. Never tried either. But I guess you’re traumatized by the casualness as I speak of such, supposedly, gruesome and morbid things and in such description too. Having faced such tasks before, I’ve grown immune to them already. It’s part and parcel of my nightlife. Thrillers, spy movies and the likes aren’t even exciting or suspenseful to me anymore. Those movies that I’ve watched totally lack the creativity in filming the assassination scenes. I fear it’s a severe case of literally “been there, done that” for my brother and me. We’ve done some even more dangerous stuff during our many assassinations… and we’re only seventeen. Irony is grand, isn’t it?

Oh, _lovely_. It’s almost 10pm, which means that _the_ time is near and I will be joining 0111010 soon. Tonight will be the greatest night so far in my life, I am sure of it. I relish the glorious chance of hearing that old _fool_ of a scientist plead and beg for mercy at our feet. I can envision his fearful eyes as he looks up at us, when he used to look down on us. Ha. His own ‘sons’, betraying him!

It will give us immense pleasure to see him lying in his own pool of blood – dying – in the middle of his room, his much-loved study… Ah, it will be a _beautiful_ sight… He will die slowly, painfully… Our choice weapons will come in _very_ handy.

What are our choice weapons? Why, Beyblades! Of course, they aren’t the standard fare you find in the shops. We create our own Beyblades and modify the metallic attack rings to include many hidden features. All illegal in the Bey Stadium, that’s for sure. But those blades never were meant for such sporting purposes. They are just our beloved killing weapons. We have separate Beyblades specifically for the sport. Oh, un-customized blades can kill too. We know that. But the cuts and slashes just _aren’t_ so slick and clean. We _hate_ messiness, you know.

Therefore, we will be very careful that his blood will not touch and stain our hands, our bare skin. I do believe we have enough blood on ours to last. His would be an insult to our cause of ridding his evil. We’ve always worn gloves, and this time, the gloves are going straight into the chute once they’ve been disinfected. We have more gloves anyway. It’s all in an assassin’s attire.

You _still_ want our real names? I’m afraid that’s still a dead end. Unless you want a hole in your head. We know a fair share of backstabbers and chatterboxes. This is not a risk we’ll take.

Persistent, aren’t you? Fine then. The name’s Tala. Tala Ivanov. And my brother is Kai. Kai Hiwatari.

Our names are obviously recognizable to you. But you say you don’t believe me, eh? Well, you never did see my face clearly and age is _never_ a deciding factor in committing assassinations when you’ve been trained like me. In fact, age is the last thing you’ll need to consider. We have the creativity to worm our way out of dangerous situations. And having spirit beasts as backup is more reliable than other humans.

Oh relax! You don’t have to stare at the pistol with such wide eyes. Us assassins always have to be on our guard in case our cover is blown. It’s the norm. Besides, I have a silencer on it. Nobody will know that you’re afraid, other than me of course. You won’t even need to scream. Your death will be painless and quick.

I’m a dead shot. Believe me.

But you really could’ve, and _should_ have, saved yourself and me the trouble had you not been such a nosey fool. Unfortunately, I’ll be the last person you’ll ever see. I’ll be nice for once, considering that I’m in such a good mood today… Here’s some last advice for you to take into the afterlife:

 **Never** meddle with an assassin – especially one like me. Or my brother.

Goodbye.

 **  
_PING!_   
**


End file.
